Dare to Stay

by Jen McLaughlin

I watched the red liquid fill up the glass. It occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten all day. Chris had made pancakes, but we’d never actually sat down to enjoy them. By the time I came down the stairs, after a long, frustrated shower, they’d been hard and cold, so I’d tossed them. My stomach growled in protest.

  “I’ve known him for years, but we just recently got to know each other better.” I picked up the wine and stared down at it, not drinking it. “His parents are my neighbors, so he’s been around for a while. Whenever he comes by, he always does something nice for me. Stops by to say hello. Kind of like you and me, only in the city.”

  His jaw flexed. “Cool.”

  “Yeah . . .”

  He stared out the window. “What does he do for a living? I’m assuming he doesn’t just draw, since you said he’s new to the scene?”

  “He . . . uh . . .”

  God. I wasn’t ready for this. I didn’t know what to say to these questions. How to answer. Obviously, I couldn’t tell him the truth. He’s in a gang and sells guns, and he shoots people with those guns. In the city, people might understand—maybe. But out here? Yeah. He wouldn’t get it, or why I was with a guy like Chris.

  It was a rude awakening.

  One I didn’t entirely welcome.

  Mitchell frowned. “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer. I shouldn’t be prying.”

  “You’re not. It’s just . . . it’s hard to explain, is all.” I set my glass down, the room spinning. “He’s in sales, kind of.”

  He cocked a brow. He kind of looked like Chris when he did that. All cocky-arrogant and self-assured. “Kind of?”

  “Yeah.” I walked over to the fridge and opened it, pulling out some mozzarella and tomatoes. I set balsamic vinegar next to it. “Hungry?”

  “Sure.” He sat down at the stool by the island. “What kind of sales is he in?”

  I closed my eyes and counted to three. Mitchell meant well, and we always talked like this when he came over to visit, but today, it was too much. “I’m starving. I haven’t eaten yet today.”

  He seemed to get the point. Coming around the island, he pulled two bowls out of the cabinet. “Well, let’s fix that. Can’t have you drinking on an empty stomach. So, how goes life as a kindergarten teacher?”

  I picked the knife up off the counter and started slicing tomatoes. “It’s great. I love the kids.”

  “You want some of your own someday?” he asked, opening the cheese.

  I froze, the knife still halfway buried in a tomato. To be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it. To have kids, traditionally speaking, I’d have to have a husband or a lover. And to have a husband, chances were, I’d have to care about someone, and that broke my rules. Loving someone else opened me up to pain and loss. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Sorry.” He laughed uneasily. “Didn’t mean to make you panic. I was just curious. You seem like you’d be a good mom.”

  “I mean, yeah. I guess I want kids. Someday. Maybe.”

  Mitchell laughed. “Give it time. You’ll know when you’re ready. I give it five years before you’ve got a bunch of little Mollys running around this house.”

  I tried to picture it. Some faceless guy and me married, with a couple of little kids. But the faceless guy? He wasn’t so faceless after all. He was Chris. And instead of terrifying me, like this should, it felt . . . good. Like it was something I wanted, even.

  Oh God.

  Was I falling in love with Chris?

  CHAPTER 21

  CHRIS

  “This is the trick to winning.” I leaned forward, pointing at the drawing I’d made of Bitter Hill’s clubhouse. “Back here.”

  Tate frowned. “A door?”

  It was a rudimentary sketch, but it had all the doors and windows represented accurately. Tate leaned in, too, and so did Tommy, Brian, and Scotty. I’d asked if he could sit in, since he was Lucas’s brother and his heir apparent. Plus, I needed him there so I could give him my position.

  “Here, behind the Dumpster, is a door that only the club members know about. They keep it hidden for a quick escape, if need be. The Dumpster is always empty, so it can be pushed out of the way.” I tapped the square I’d drawn for the Dumpster. “So the way I see it, we have two good options. Either block the door so they can’t get out and attack from the front, or attack from the back, since they won’t know that we know about it. Or we could even pay the Boys on our payroll to keep people out of the area, and then we’ll set fire to the building. We could barricade the doors and pick off the survivors as they escape.”

  Tate nodded, running his thumb over his chin. His hair was freshly cut, and his blue eyes were narrowed as he studied the replica of the target. He was young, only twenty-nine, and he was the type of guy who women flocked to, never realizing how dangerous he was beneath those designer suits and charming smiles. “I like the last plan. They’ll all run for their escape hatch, only to be trapped against a wall. And the ones who head for the front? We can mow them down like the cowards they are.”

  I nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Wow.” Scotty shifted in his seat. “That’s risky, but it could work.”

  Tate eyed him. “Are you okay with this? As his heir, you have first say.”

  “Well, actually.” Scotty eyed me and pulled Lucas’s note out of his pocket. “I found this, and it seems like Lucas had other plans. He named Chris as his heir.”

  I snatched it out of his hand. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think Lucas was right. Scotty should be his successor. Not me. It’s only right.”

  Scotty looked two seconds from murdering me, since this wasn’t what we’d agreed upon, but he quickly lost the anger—outwardly, at least. “It’s what Lucas wanted.”

  “I know, but it doesn’t feel right,” I said slowly.

  Yeah, I was supposed to graciously accept the position. But Scotty would get a hell of a lot more intel if he was in the inner circle, and me turning down a promotion was a great way for me to lay the foundation in Tate’s head as a Boy. No one turned down jobs in this gang unless they were hiding something. But I couldn’t refuse it too adamantly, since Pops knew about my betrayal and could ruin everything before I came out as the rat in their midst.

  I walked a fine line here.

  Tate didn’t show any reaction. Just held his hand out and stared at me with those bright blue eyes of his that looked way too innocent on such a ruthless leader.

  Pulse racing, I passed it over. “Like I said, it’s not right.”

  “I heard you the first time.” Tate opened it, scanning it. “Where did you find this, Scott?”

  “In Heidi’s bar. Lucas told me if anything happened to him, to look in the top drawer of Heidi’s desk after he was gone.” Scotty rested his elbows on his thighs. “That’s what I found when I broke in.”

  Tate rotated it, holding it in the corner with two fingers. “It’s bloody. Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Scotty dragged a hand through his hair. “I found it that way.”

  Tate frowned. Brian leaned in and said something quietly in his ear, and he nodded in return. Then he turned back to me. “You’re rejecting this promotion, O’Brien?”

  I swallowed hard, knowing I couldn’t actually do so. If I did, they’d suspect something was off too soon for my plans, so I had to play this out right, or pay the price. “No. Not at all. I’m honored and would accept the position if you feel it’s best. But since Scotty is his little brother, his blood, I’m simply pointing out that it might be best to follow that. Who knows what kind of mind frame Lucas was in when he wrote this? There’s blood on it. Obviously some shit went down.”

  Tate looked down at the paper again. “Indeed.”

  We all sat there silently, waiting for Tate to speak.

  Brian settled back in his chair. “If your father knew you were saying this, he woul
dn’t be pleased. He’s not the type to turn down advancement.”

  “I know.” I lifted a shoulder. “I’m not my father. I’m loyal to the gang, and I like promotions as much as the next guy, but I prefer to earn them on my merit and hard work, rather than from someone else’s loss.”

  Tate eyed me with new respect.

  Scotty picked up his whiskey and took a long drink.

  Brian nodded. “Well said, O’Brien.”

  “I agree. It shows how good of a leader you truly are.” Tate looked at Scotty, frowning. “What do you think? Would you like to disregard these last wishes of your brother and take the position, or do you think Chris should have it?”

  Scotty set his glass down. “Whatever you think is best, sir. I, like Chris, am still mourning my brother’s passing. In this instance, I think your opinion on this should decide the matter.”

  Tate nodded in appreciation. “Well said, as well.”

  “What’s it going to be, boss?” Brian asked. “Scott or Chris?”

  “How about this? Scott, you take over your brother’s position, and Chris oversees you to make sure no mistakes are made as you learn the ins and outs of leadership. Think of it as an internship of sorts. If you prove capable of the power?” Tate placed the note in his suit jacket breast pocket. “It’s yours. If not, Chris gets it. Does that sound like a fair plan to the two of you?”

  “Better than fair.” It gave us an excuse to spend a lot of time together, which was what I’d been hoping for. For my plan to work, I had to be close to him at all times. “Scotty?”

  He nodded once. The way he looked at me—half respect, half hesitation—pretty much summed up his feelings for me. He still wasn’t sure if I was playing an angle or not. He’d probably never be certain until this was over. “Yeah. I can work with that, sir.”

  “Great.” He leaned in again and stared down at the map I’d made. “Where did you get this intel, Chris? Is it reliable?”

  “Very. It’s from an old buddy of mine who got jumped out of Bitter Hill.” I shrugged. “I try to keep lots of connections in lots of places. It helps when you need intel that you can’t get from the usual avenues.”

  Tate rubbed his jaw, nodding, but stared at me as if he wasn’t exactly sure what kind of connections I had. Again. Part of my plan. It was almost too easy—like taking candy from a baby. “Excellent.”

  “Should we fill the rest of the men in on the plan?” Brian asked.

  “Yes.” He stood and eyed both Scotty and me, still looking less than thrilled. “In light of our new arrangements, I want you two to head up the sale tomorrow at ten in the morning on the lower docks. Show Scotty how it’s done. You were with Lucas at the last one, right?”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay. I leave it in your hands.” He picked up the drawing, staring down at it. “Head on out and show him the area. Go over how it works, so there are no hiccups during the real thing tomorrow. We don’t want our buyers getting antsy over yet another man handling the sale. Come by my office after it’s done. I’ll expect a full report.”

  I shook his hand and repeated, “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Scotty also shook his hand. “I appreciate the opportunity to prove myself.”

  Tate nodded and walked to the bar.

  Scotty watched him go. As soon as Tate was out of earshot, he clapped me on the shoulder in what probably looked like a comradely fashion, and hissed, “Outside. Now.”

  We headed for the door, and I rolled my hands into fists. He could rip me a new one all he wanted, but my play had ended exactly the way I’d wanted it to.

  All’s well that ends well.

  Pops stepped in front of me. “Can I have a minute, son?”

  “Sure.” Scotty gave me a warning look. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

  “What’s up?” I asked as Scotty walked through the door.

  “Did you get the position?” he asked quietly.

  “No.” I gritted my teeth and glanced over my shoulder, worried someone might overhear us. “I’m helping Scotty, though, and teaching him how to do Lucas’s job. I can ruin all his best efforts, and the position is mine, even more securely than before.”

  Pops grinned. His weathered, rough skin crinkled, and his brown eyes shone with pride. “Excellent. Make it realistic, though. Don’t get too overeager.”

  “I won’t. Don’t worry—I know how to play the game. You taught me well.” I cocked my head. “Tate wants me to show him the ropes now, so I better go.”

  He nodded and walked off without another word.

  As soon as I faced the door, I ran my hands down my face and took a deep breath. Because, fuck, I needed a deep breath. This game of push and pull, and living a double life? It was exhausting. I’d gotten a small taste of it while I’d been plotting Lucas’s death, but now I was lying to a whole fucking gang, and these men were my brothers.

  I didn’t know how Scotty did it.

  This double life.

  Shaking my head, I pulled the door open. The second I stepped outside, I heard the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting bone and flesh to my left.

  “Fucker,” Scotty growled. “Come at me.”

  I grabbed the door before it could shut loudly, slowly letting it latch. To the side of the door, around the corner of the building, Scotty struggled with three other men, who were taking turns punching him. He was putting up a good fight, but he was losing. The men were all bigger than him and were from Bitter Hill.

  I recognized the biggest guy as one of Reggie’s men.

  For once, their fight wasn’t focused on me.

  Cursing inwardly, I stepped back in the shadows, watching. I wasn’t about to go charging out there without knowing exactly what I was up against. That wouldn’t do any good.

  “Did your mama teach you how to punch, little kid?” one of the Bitter Hill guys taunted.

  “No. Your mom did last night.” Scotty spit out a mouthful of blood. “Right before she took it up the ass.”

  “I’ll kill you for that!” one of the bigger guys growled, launching himself at Scotty.

  “Shh,” the biggest guy said, grabbing him before he could make contact. “We don’t want his buddies coming out to help. Take him down quieter.”

  “Fuck you.” Scotty punched the leader in the nose, and blood squirted out. The man stumbled backward, his hand plastered to his nose. Scotty made eye contact with me briefly but quickly looked away. Something told me he didn’t expect me to help him. Laughing, he held his arms out to the side. “Who’s next?”

  One man stepped back and pulled out a switchblade. He flicked it open with a swing of his wrist. “Me.”

  Scotty eyed the knife. “Coward.”

  And then he spat at his feet.

  The man growled and leapt at Scotty, and they went to the pavement in a tangled mess of fists and legs . . . and one knife. The other men watched, grinning.

  “Hurry up,” the leader hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the main door.

  They obviously sought to take down a gang member right outside the clubhouse, to send a message to Tate. To show them that no one was safe, no matter who they were or where we were. I could walk away. Let the Bitter Hill guys take Scotty out of the equation for me, take over his position, and forget all about betraying my brothers. Forget all about the Donahues and everything they stood for. Move on.

  Or I could do the right thing.

  The thing is, sometimes the right thing wasn’t so clear-cut. And sometimes it didn’t feel good. Not much in this world ever made sense. Nothing was held at face value.

  Not anymore.

  Pulling my gun out of my holster, I crept around the corner, aimed, and fired off a shot at the grinning asshole. He was still grinning as his blood and brains exploded all over the brick wall behind him in a giant splattered c
ircle. He crumbled to the black pavement like a broken marionette, his knees folding beneath him as his skull hit the pavement with a sick thud.

  Scotty looked up briefly, shock written all over his face, but recovered quickly enough to punch the guy who was straddling him in the gut. He fell to the side, slashing out at Scotty as he went, but I had to focus on the other standing man—the leader.

  I pointed my gun at him and started to squeeze the trigger when something hit me from behind, slamming into the back of my skull. I hit the ground hard, face-first, stars swimming in front of my eyes, and struggled to roll over and shoot. The second I was on my back, a foot slammed into my nose, snapping it, and I couldn’t see a damn thing.

  I was blinded by pain and stars, but I still lifted the gun.

  Even though I couldn’t see where to aim.

  “Chris, shoot!” Scotty yelled. “Now!”

  Trusting him, I pulled the trigger and hoped to hell I hit someone. A strangled moan followed the boom of my gun, and a dead weight fell on top of me, soaking me with warm, sticky blood. I might not be able to see my attacker, but I’d say my aim had been true. And now he was bleeding all over me.

  That’s what I got for telling Molly I loved her, like a fool.

  A corpse and a fucking broken nose.

  The door to the clubhouse slammed open, a flurry of shots and cursing took over the quiet of the night, and I stayed under the cover of the corpse, breathing heavily. Gingerly, I touched my nose, wincing, and groaned. “Motherfucker.”

  When things calmed down, I tried to push the corpse off me, but it was too heavy, and I was too weak. One last shot sounded, and someone crouched beside me. The dead weight crushing my chest was dragged off me, and I inhaled deeply. The air filled my lungs, and my vision cleared a little. I blinked up at the person next to me. Scotty knelt there, blood running down his face and a bruise already forming under his eye. “Shit. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Rolling over, I spit out blood. It tasted like metal, a flavor I was all too familiar with. “Are they all dead?”

  “Yeah.” He pinched his nose and winced. “You got two, I got one, and Brian got the other.”